


The Pain Inside Prequel to Twist Serve

by Dextrousleftie



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Fluff, Gay Romance, Love, Lust, M/M, Oral Sex, Pain, Rimming, Teenagers, Tennis, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9253631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dextrousleftie/pseuds/Dextrousleftie
Summary: Fuji has been in love with Tezuka for years, but his Captain has a girlfriend and hasn't noticed that his friend is pining for him. Also, Eiji's had a crush on Ooishi, who is just as clueless. Will either boy get what they want, or will they have to continue going on being miserable forever?





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here is the prequel to Twist Serve. This takes place in high school, a few years before the boys go to college. Enjoy -DL

 

Kikumaru Eiji awoke to the sound of his alarm clock/radio going off. The exuberant redhead jumped out of bed like a spring, bouncy and bright-eyed. Unlike his teammate, Echizen Ryoma, Eiji was definitely a morning person. He got out of bed with the same energy as he’d gotten into it, and tripped into the bathroom to begin his favorite and most important ritual of the day – brushing his teeth.

Eiji loved to brush his teeth. It wasn’t just that he believed fervently in keeping his teeth clean, for they were very nice teeth. Small, white, and rather sharp, they gave him a dazzling smile. But the real attraction for the redhead was the toothpaste. He loved to try out new flavors, and had used some pretty bizarre ones in his time. The memory of that mango-mint-flavored toothpaste still made him shudder. But today he was using a strawberry-kiwi toothpaste that he really liked. He hummed to himself as he got down the tube from the medicine cabinet, squirted some onto his brush, and began to run the brush vigorously over his gums.

His own keen sapphire gaze looked back at him out of the bathroom mirror. He beamed at himself, happy just to be able to perform this simple but important morning ritual. But as he brushed automatically, his brain began to idly think of other things. And some of the things he was thinking were not thoughts destined to keep him in a good mood. He sighed, the brush actually stopping for a moment as he met his own now rather glum eyes in the mirror. 

Eiji’s life was mostly flowers and sunshine, and he generally danced through it without a care in the world. But there was only one not-so-small cloud on his horizon – it was a problem that had been with him for years, and it showed no signs of being solved anytime in the near future. And that problem, simply and in a nutshell, was the fact that Eiji was now a seventeen-year-old virgin. 

He’d never meant to get to his senior year in high school and still be a virgin. He didn’t WANT to be a virgin, that was for sure. He longed, like any other horny teenage boy, to be having sex constantly with someone. The real problem, however, was that the only someone he wanted to have sex with just happened to be his good friend and doubles partner, Oishi Shuichiro. But Oishi had never shown any interest in Eiji as anything other than a close friend, and he was currently dating a pretty girl named Asami. So the only recourse that the frustrated redhead had left was his own hand. And he was pretty sure that his right hand was getting some funny calluses on it from masturbating too much.

Eiji spit in the sink and rinsed his mouth out. His good mood had evaporated, and he dragged himself back into his bedroom to get dressed and brush his hair with a rather sad expression on his face. He began to put on his school uniform, musing as he did so that if he weren’t so hung up on Oishi he could have been getting laid every night of the week. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had offers. He knew that he was almost pretty, with his big, slanted sapphire eyes and pointed, pixyish face; and he had a tight, slimly-muscular athletic body to go along with his face. Although some boys were put off by his bouncy, extremely energetic personality, it turned many of them on. They wanted to know if he’d be that energetic in bed, as well. 

Eiji suspected that he would be. Not that he’d know – because he just COULDN’T seem to shuck his infatuation with his friend and go on to someone else. Anyone else. Someone who wanted him, and didn’t look at him with friendly affection rather than lust. He sighed as he pulled his socks on. He knew that brooding about this was a stupid thing to do, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d been in love (or maybe just lust, who knew?) with Oishi since he was about fourteen. That was three years of his life wasted, drooling over and fantasizing about the friendly, sweet, and perfectly clueless Oishi Shuichiro. How many more would he spend yearning after him? Would he ever be able to move past his feelings for his doubles partner? If he couldn’t, then he knew that he was in a world of hurt.

 

Fuji Syusuke glided down the hall of his high school, his pale face almost expressionless. He was on his way to his first hour class, and he was late, as usual. Not that he cared. His grades were actually pretty good, but he’d been called to the principal’s office so many times for being tardy and disrespectful to teachers, that there was a joke that one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room had his name permanently written on it in marker. One side of his mouth quirked up in a cold smile. The amusing thing was that the only reason he wasn’t expelled altogether (and that his grades were as good as they were) was because of a certain intimate ‘favor’ he’d done for Vice Principal Horoshi. 

Fuji knew that a rumor about that favor had begun to circulate around the school. He knew it, but he just did not care. At this point in his life, Fuji Syusuke didn’t care about much of anything, least of all himself. He was indifferent to the destruction of his reputation, not that it had been that good to begin with. Let the rest of the student body think what they would about him. Anything that they thought or imagined about him would be a pale imitation of the truth, anyway. The secret life he led outside of school and tennis would shock all of these little innocents to their very cores, if they knew about it. 

He knew that Tezuka was worried about him. Those laser-sharp hazel eyes watched him constantly, and the frown that Tezuka often wore now seemed permanently tattooed on his face whenever he was around Fuji. The smile on Fuji’s face widened, and took on a bitter tinge at this thought. Since Tezuka was the cause of most of his behavior, let him worry. Let him suffer even a tenth of the pain that Fuji had suffered, even a hundredth of the heartache he’d endured. Unrequited love, Fuji had discovered over the years, eventually began to scar one’s soul. His own was now as twisted and warped as a piece of plastic left on a car’s dashboard on a hot summer day. There were times now when he almost hated Tezuka Kunimitsu. Almost. 

He felt the exquisite pain of the bruises that covered his body under the school uniform. He took a certain amount of satisfaction from the feel of them, for Fuji liked pain. Not emotional pain, as he’d come to discover over time, but physical pain. He found that he could feel sexual pleasure only when a certain amount of pain was involved, as well. He was a masochist, with a bit of the sadist thrown in for good measure. His sex life for the past few years had begun to become steadily more and more warped, as he indulged his feelings of jealousy and rage again and again. And because he couldn’t take those feelings out on Tezuka’s girlfriend Michiko, he took them out on himself, instead.

While Fuji could be evil, he didn’t blame Michiko for the fact that he and Tezuka were not together. If it hadn’t been her, it would be some other girl. The captain of their tennis team simply wasn’t interested in men. That was the hard burden that Fuji suffered under. He could never have what he wanted most in life. The thing he loved most. And it was tearing him apart steadily, day-by-day, until there were times when he thought that he would eventually spiral downward into a morass of negative behaviors that would end up destroying him. And there were times, frighteningly enough, when he welcomed that thought. Better to get it over with, rather than go on suffering anymore.

He finally reached his classroom, and walked into it. The teacher gave him a long-suffering look, for he was used to Fuji’s late entrances by now. The rest of the class barely looked at him as he went to take an empty seat, and drape himself languidly over the chair. The only other person in the class from the tennis team was Kikumaru Eiji, and the redhead gave him a brief, disgusted glance before he settled his attention once more on the teacher’s interrupted lecture. 

Fuji ignored Eiji’s look, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were low-lidded, and his expression completely disinterested. He paid no attention to the lecture, choosing instead to stare out the window in a state of complete and total boredom. It was a beautiful day – why had he even bothered to come to school? He could be out doing other, more interesting things, rather than rotting in this classroom. 

He let his eyes roam over the class, thinking scornfully to himself what a bunch of sheep they all were. His gaze came to rest on the back of a familiar red head. It amused him, in a bitter sort of way, that Eiji was in the same boat that he was. He knew that the other boy lusted after the vice captain of the team and his doubles partner, Oishi Shuichiro. And that Oishi was as oblivious to Eiji’s attraction to him as Tezuka was about Fuji’s. They had simply gone in different directions where their sexuality was concerned. Fuji was absolutely sure that Eiji was still a virgin, while he himself slept with anyone he fancied. Sometimes more than one anyone at the same time, actually. As long as his many partners could provide him with the pain he needed, they could take his mind away from the man who haunted his very dreams. If even for just awhile. 

 

Eiji saw Fuji enter the classroom (late as usual), and sit down at an empty desk. The prodigy’s face was unreadable, and his magnetic eyes were hooded. Their eyes met briefly, but Fuji’s gave nothing away. Eiji had never been able to read Fuji very easily, and now he couldn’t read him at all. There was something weird going on with the tensai, above and beyond his constant tardiness and rudeness. But the redhead had no clue as to what that was, and no real way to find out either. Asking Fuji outright would be an exercise in futility. All Fuji would do was laugh that cold, bitter laugh that seemed to escape his lips so often anymore. Fuji’s laugh sounded almost like crying, and it always made the hair stand up on the back of Eiji’s neck.

The rest of the team had noticed the changes in Fuji’s behavior as well. But since he was still playing tennis as well as ever (maybe even better than normal, in fact), it wasn’t affecting the team as a whole. But on a more personal note, his strange behavior had everyone worried. Tezuka especially was both unhappy and concerned about his teammate, and Eiji knew that he’d tried several times to outright ask Fuji what was causing him to act the way he was. But the tensai had refused to answer, replying only that it was none of Tezuka’s business when the captain pressed him hard enough.

Eiji suspected that it had something to do with the bruises he’d seen around Fuji’s wrists one day. He’d been shocked by them, for the skin had been abraded and raw in places. Fuji had seen him staring wide-eyed at his wrists, and had merely smiled in a way that made Eiji feel both uneasy and rather sick. “The hazards of getting what you need,” he’d said, and had pulled the wrists of his jersey down over the bruises and strolled out of the locker room as though he hadn’t a care in the world. 

Eiji was beginning to think that there was something really wrong with Fuji. Mentally, even. There were times when he seemed really crazy, a lot more even than normal. The redhead often wondered uneasily if Fuji would finally snap altogether. And what would happen if he did. It was enough to take his mind off of his own problem, for which he supposed that he should be grateful. But when you stopped thinking about sex because you were afraid that your teammate might go on a killing spree, it didn’t make for a great feeling of relief. 

 

If Fuji had been made aware of Eiji’s thoughts, he would have laughed aloud. Then he would have used that knowledge to torture the rather gullible redhead, so perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t know about them. He knew, at least, that if he ever did finally snap the destruction would not be external. It would all be inside of him, where the churning maelstrom of his emotions was. He would be torn apart from the inside out, and would implode like a collapsing star. That analogy pleased the prodigy greatly.

He closed his eyes entirely and fell into a light doze. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, what with one thing or another. He had a dream, a dream in which he was standing in the locker room looking at Tezuka down the length of it. But in the dream, the locker room had stretched out until it was a mile or so long. While he knew that it was the buchou standing there in the distance, he couldn’t see Tezuka very well. He heard his captain call his name, and Fuji began to walk down the long, long locker room toward him. But he never seemed to get any closer, for the room just kept stretching as he walked. Finally the tensai broke into a run, desperate to reach the other man. But even that was futile. The room just kept lengthening, and Tezuka kept drawing further and further away from him….

He awoke with a gasp as the bell for next class rang. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and his hands were shaking as he stumbled to his feet. That dream had been so real, so immediate…he couldn’t shake the dregs of it as he walked out of his first hour classroom. Most likely, he thought grimly as he let the flow of students carry him out of the room and down the hall in the direction of his next class, it was because the dream had hit on his worst fear – that run as fast as he could, he’d never be able to catch up with the thing he wanted most. That the pursuit was futile, but he wouldn’t be able to give it up no matter how much it hurt him. And there lay the paradox at the heart of Fuji, that his stubborn drive to succeed at anything he tried was the thing that would ultimately prove his downfall… 

 

Eiji emerged from the classroom after Fuji. He saw the prodigy start away down the hall towards his next class, and didn’t try to stop or talk to him. Instead, he went in the other direction, since his Japanese Literature class room was down that way. But his dark musings about Fuji were derailed, when he saw the object of his unrequited affection standing in the hallway talking to his girlfriend, Asami. Oishi was smiling, that sweet, gentle smile that always made Eiji’s heart do flip-flops in his chest. His face fell even further, and he ducked into a side hall to go around the couple, so that he didn’t have to walk past them or watch them together. He could mostly keep his jealousy in check, as long as he didn’t have to have the fact that Oishi was with someone else shoved into his face.

Because of that, he didn’t see the smile on Oishi’s face transform into a look of disbelieving shock, nor did he see Asami stomp away down the hallway without looking back at the stunned, frozen tennis player.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oisihi is bummed because his girlfriend broke up with him. Then Fuji tells him something about his doubles partner that shocks him. Will it make him think differently about Eiji?

Oishi Shuichiro sat on a bench in the locker room after school, slumped over with his hands hanging down between his slightly spread legs. He stared sightlessly down at the concrete floor, which was painted a drab gray color. The others would be arriving for practice soon, and Oishi knew that he had to pull himself together before that happened. 

He just couldn’t believe that Asami had broken up with him. This had come out of the blue, for she’d never given any indication before that she was unhappy with him. At least none that he’d recognized, anyway. So when she’d angrily told him off before stomping away, he’d been utterly amazed and stunned. He could still remember her snapping dark eyes as she’d said: “You never spend any time with me, anyway, so why should we keep going together? You’re always off with that friend of yours, or at tennis practice, or with your team. We haven’t been on a real date in over a month. And you hardly ever kiss me, or hold my hand, or…anything!” she’d thrown her hands in the air as she said this. Then her glare had intensified. “Why don’t you just go hang around with your boyfriend? He gets all of your attention, anyway.”

Oishi had gaped at her then. There had been a hard look on her pretty face. “I swear, you touch Kikumaru-kun more than you do me. If I’d known that you were gay, I would never have agreed to go out with you in the first place.”

He’d tried to protest then. “I’m not gay!” he’d said. “Eiji is just my best friend, is all.”

She’d sneered. “Uh-huh. Some ‘friend’. But who cares? I’m through with you, Oishi Shuichiro. I never want to see you again,” and she’d turned and stalked away down the hallway, leaving him standing frozen in shock behind her. 

The thing that disturbed him most was her allegations about Eiji. The redhead had been his best friend for over five years now. Of course they were close – they had to be, to be such a good doubles team. They could read each others’ every move and thought. They completely trusted each other. They couldn’t have done that if they WEREN’T so close to each other. But to imply that he and Eiji…he shook his head. She had simply misinterpreted he and his partner’s relationship, that’s all. She didn’t play tennis – she had no idea of what it took to be a successful doubles team.

He looked up as a noise told him that at least one of the team members had arrived in the locker room. “Hey, Oishi-senpai!” called Momo as he strolled into the room. He went over to his locker to start changing into his tennis clothes. “Why are you just sittin’ in here?” he asked over his shoulder, as he pulled a pair of shorts out of the locker and began to take off his school uniform.

Oishi sighed. “I just came in a little early to have some time to myself to think,” he replied listlessly.

Instantly, the kind-hearted Momo saw that something was wrong. “What’s the matter?” he asked, walking over to sit on the bench next to Oishi. “Why do you look so blue? Did something happen?”

Oishi nodded. “My girlfriend broke up with me today,” he said glumly.

Momo’s purple eyes filled up with a look of compassion. “Oh, man. That’s rough Oishi-senpai. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, Momo-chan,” Oishi conjured up a small smile for the truly nice younger boy. “I’ll be okay. It was just unexpected, that’s all.” 

Momo looked at him curiously. “Why’d she say she was breaking up with you?”

Oishi shook his head. “She said I didn’t spend enough time with her. That I spent tons more time with the team and at practice.”

Momo snorted. “Obviously she doesn’t understand what it takes to be a good tennis player,” he replied dryly. 

Oishi understood what he was trying to say. The life of a tennis player could be hard. Between classes and homework and the hours of tennis practice every day, there was little time left for a personal life. He brightened up at Momo’s words, feeling the guilt that her words had caused him to experience draining away. He was, first and foremost, a tennis player. If Asami hadn’t understood that…well, there was nothing he could do about that. While he still felt a little depressed about losing his girlfriend, he still felt ten times better.

He punched Momo lightly on his upper arm. “Thanks, Momo-chan,” he murmured.

Momo grinned as he got up to go finish getting dressed. “No problem, Oishi-senpai,” he replied merrily.

Oishi got up to get dressed in his own tennis clothes. Inui came in just then, followed by Kaidoh. They talked as they changed into their tennis clothes, then Momo and the other two departed for the courts outside to do some warm-up stretches. Oishi didn’t go after them, because as Vice Captain he had to keep track and write down the names of everyone arriving for practice. Some of the other students in the tennis club arrived, and Oishi noted down their names and the time that they’d arrived.

In a lull in between groups, Fuji strolled into the locker room. The tensai might often be late for school, but he was never late for tennis practice. He gave Oishi an enigmatic stare, before he went over to his locker to retrieve his tennis clothes. Oishi said nothing to him, for Fuji’s behavior had been so disturbing lately that he was almost afraid to. The things that came out of Fuji’s mouth were often cutting, derisive, or just plain crazy. He looked at his list, making sure that he’d checked everyone off correctly, then happened to glance up as Fuji took his uniform tunic off.

Oishi gasped. Fuji’s back was covered with bruises. The prodigy heard him, and directed a slit-eyed look over his shoulder at the Vice Captain. “Something wrong?” he said in a voice that was almost menacing. 

“N-No,” stuttered Oishi, hurriedly looking away. 

He heard Fuji snort lightly. “So, I hear that your girlfriend broke up with you, Oishi,” he continued after a moment.

Oishi’s head whipped around again. He gaped at Fuji, who had pulled his short-sleeved shirt on to hide the bruises. The prodigy gave him a cool look in return.

“How did you know that?” burst out Oishi in amazement.

One side of Fuji’s mouth quirked up. “I know just about everything that goes on at this school,” he replied. “And I heard your ex-girlfriend telling her friends all about how she’d given you the boot in Biology class today. I sit right in back of her.”

“Oh,” Oishi was flummoxed. He didn’t know what else to say. Fuji tipped his head to the side in that knowing way he had. “Dumped you because you didn’t pay enough attention to her, eh?” he said musingly. “Thinks you have a thing going with Eiji. Now, I wonder where she could have gotten that idea from?”

Oishi protested, stung: “She got that wrong! I don’t have anything going with Eiji! He’s simply my best friend, that’s all!”

“Mmm-hmm. Maybe that’s what you think…” a smirk crossed Fuji’s lips. “But I think if you asked a certain redhead, he might tell you that he’d like to be more than just your ‘best friend’.” He said sardonically.

Oishi’s mouth hung open a little. “Huh?” was all he could think to say.

Fuji shook his head and sighed. “Why do I even bother?” he remarked to the air. “The clueless should remain so. But I’ll break my own rule just this once, and tell you that Eiji-kun wants to jump your bones, Oishi-kun. He has for years. You’re just too blind to actually see what’s right in front of you.” He turned to retrieve his racket, then an evil smile spread over his face when he saw the flabbergasted expression on Oishi’s. “Close your mouth, Oishi, you’re drawing flies,” he quipped, before he strode out of the locker room toward the courts without a backward glance.

Oishi was left standing in the middle of the locker room, his dark-green eyes rather wide. Surely Fuji couldn’t be right? Of course not! He just liked to play with people, that was all. Eiji didn’t…of course he didn’t…he shook his head in bewilderment. Why was he even thinking about this? Fuji was just being cruel, as usual. Especially lately. He was just trying to get a rise out of Oishi. And it had worked like a charm, leaving him feeling upset and off-balance. He wasn’t going to think about this anymore.

But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. As other students came in and were checked off, his mind kept stubbornly dwelling on Fuji’s words, no matter how hard he tried to push them away. Echizen Ryoma came in, and gave the Vice Captain a strange look when Oishi greeted him absentmindedly. The freshman shrugged his shoulders, and put his racket over one of them as he walked out to the courts. Clearly he figured that it was none of his business. 

Finally, one of the last people to trickle in was the object of Oishi’s thoughts. Eiji came bouncing into the locker room and greeted him brightly. “Hey, Oishi! Why the long face?”

The redhead eyed him, and Oishi gave the answer that had been true a half an hour ago, although not now: “I’m kind of upset. Asami broke up with me today.”

Eiji came to screeching halt and gaped at him. His sapphire eyes were wide. “What?! Why’d she do that?” he asked indignantly. 

Oishi smiled a little at his friend’s indignation on his behalf. “She said I didn’t spend enough time with her,” he replied.

The redhead snorted. “Fuh! If she didn’t understand how dedicated you are to tennis, then you don’t need her,” he said.

Oishi was studying Eiji’s face. Fuji’s words came back to him, like echoes of a shout down a narrow hallway. ‘Eiji wants to jump your bones. He has for years’ rang in his head. But look as he might, he couldn’t see what Fuji was talking about. He relaxed a bit, both relieved and a tad disappointed for some reason. “Thanks, Eiji,” he said aloud. 

Eiji danced over to his locker to fetch out his tennis clothes. “Everyone knows what a good guy you are, Oishi,” he commented as he began to unfasten the front of his school uniform tunic. “You’re a great catch. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

Oishi blinked. Eiji’s encouraging words seemed to have a strange undertone to them…curse that bastard Fuji! He was making the Vice Captain think in ways he never had before. This was bound to affect both his friendship and partnership with the little red-headed gymnast. He had to pull himself together and get back to thinking of Eiji as just a friend. He looked up at Eiji at this thought, opening his mouth to speak…and left it hanging open as he stared at his best friend.

Eiji had taken his tunic off, and was just taking off his trousers. For some reason, Oishi found himself unable to look away from the pale, lithely muscular body. His eyes traced rolling lean muscles as they moved under the white expanse of skin. While he’d seen Eiji both half-undressed and totally naked hundreds of times before, for some reason he was mesmerized this time by the sight. For the first time, it occurred to a dumbfounded Oishi that his best friend was a total babe. 

Eiji shucked off his trousers, leaving him in his underwear. Oishi tried very hard not to stare at long, lean legs and a small, tight ass encased in cotton as Eiji bent over to pull his shorts on, but he didn’t succeed. He’d NEVER ogled another guy’s ass before, and he was completely thrown off by his uncharacteristic reaction to Eiji’s. He realized in a kind of dim horror that he was actually getting the beginnings of an erection. Through sheer force of will, he tore his eyes away from the redhead’s magnificent body and stared blindly at the lockers instead.

“You okay, Oishi?” he heard his friend ask worriedly.

“Yeah,” he somehow managed to croak. “I’m fine, Eiji. I’ll be out in a minute. I’m just waiting for Tezuka.”

“Umm...all right,” Eiji replied doubtfully. After a second, Oishi heard him walk out of the locker room toward the courts.

He put a hand up to his forehead. Did he have a high fever? What was wrong with him all of a sudden? Why had Fuji’s words affected him so? He was losing his mind, that was it. There’d be guys in white coats coming along to fetch him with a straight jacket any time now. The poor befuddled Vice Captain of the tennis team groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. What the hell, he wondered in dismay, was he going to do now?

 

Eiji frowned a little as he walked out on the courts. Oishi sure was acting weird. He supposed that it could have been because of the fact that Asami had broken up with him…the redhead couldn’t help but beam at this thought. No matter that Oishi would probably start going out with another girl sometime soon. The important part was that he didn’t have a girlfriend right now. His heart danced with joy. It was easier to maintain his secret fantasies about Oishi belonging to him when his doubles partner didn’t have a girlfriend. It was kind of hard on his masturbation fantasies when images of Oishi kissing his girl friend kept intruding into Eiji’s head. Kinda took the fun out of it. He swung his racket gleefully into the air, wanting to cheer. His day was looking up after all!

“Someone’s in a good mood,” a coolly sarcastic voice noted. Eiji looked up to see Fuji leaning against the chain link fence surrounding the courts, watching him out of ice-blue slits.

“Yeah,” Eiji replied warily. “I’m just having a good day, that’s all.”

“Huh,” Fuji replied. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain partner of yours getting dumped by his latest girlfriend, would it?” 

Eiji’s mouth opened a bit. Fuji’s smile was full of twisted amusement. “Don’t look so surprised, Eiji-kun,” he remarked softly. “I know everything.” His eyes slid even further closed, and Eiji felt his stomach begin to roil at the expression on the prodigy’s face. “Everything,” he repeated, rolling the word off his tongue in satisfaction. 

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Fuji-kun,” stuttered Eiji, feeling his stomach drop toward his toes, as the tensai laughed that horrible laugh of his.

 

“Of course you don’t,” purred Fuji. “Whatever you say, Eiji-kun,” his mocking laughter followed the redhead as he darted past Fuji toward the tennis courts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oishi tells Tezuka about the bruises that Fuji is sporting, and the captain tries to get out of Fuji what is bothering him - to no avail.

Tezuka arrived last. He’d been closeted with their coach, discussing strategies for the upcoming tournament. He walked into the locker room to see a still rather befuddled Oishi standing in the middle of the room with a hands to his head as though he were trying to keep it from falling off. His brows drew down a little. “Oishi?” he said, breaking into his friend’s blue funk.

Oishi jumped a little. “Oh! Hi, Tezuka,” he said.

“Are you all right?” Tezuka asked in concern as he walked into the locker room.

Oishi nodded quickly. “Sure. Except…” he trailed off. Tezuka gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “Asami dumped me,” he said.

Tezuka’s brows flew up in astonishment. “She did? Why?”

Oishi sighed. “She said I spent way more time with the team and at practice than I did with her. Which is true, but that’s how it has to be” he straightened and firmed his shoulders. “I’m a tennis player first, and everything else is secondary. I can’t help it if she didn’t understand that.”

A small smile moved over Tezuka’s mouth. “Too true,” he said. He moved over to his locker to start getting dressed in his tennis clothes.

“Have you ever had that kind of trouble with Michiko?” Oishi asked from behind him.

 

He shook his head slightly. “Michiko’s not clingy,” Tezuka replied quietly “She has her own life, and I have mine. It seems to work out pretty well.”

“You’re lucky” Oishi said wistfully. “Wish I could find someone like that. Or at least someone who understands about my dedication to tennis.”

Tezuka pulled his school uniform tunic off, and hung it neatly on the peg in his locker. “You just need to find someone else who plays tennis,” he remarked. There was a faint gasp from behind him, and he turned his head to see that Oishi’s dark green eyes were rather wide. “What?” he asked.

Oishi shook his head vigorously. “N-Nothing,” he stuttered. “I’m sure that you’re right, Tezuka.”

The captain furrowed his brows a bit, wondering about Oishi’s strange reaction to his casual words of advice. To divert his attention, Oishi decided to talk about something else. His friendly face went grave. “There’s something I need to tell you, Buchou,” he said seriously.

Tezuka turned around fully to look at him. “What is it?” he asked.

Oishi’s eyes dropped. “It’s about…Fuji. When he came in today, I happened to see him with his shirt off when he was changing. And…his back was covered with bruises,” Oishi’s eyes were full of worry as he gazed at Tezuka’s face.

The tennis captain’s lipped thinned even more, and his hazel eyes narrowed at these words. “I see,” his words were clipped. He turned back around to finish dressing, saying only: “Don’t tell anyone else, Oishi. I’ll talk to Fuji about it.”

:Good luck with that: Oishi thought, shaking his head. Lately talking to Fuji was like trying to negotiate a mine field blindfolded. All you could do was wait for the explosion. 

 

“Did everyone show up for practice today?” Tezuka said next, getting them both back to normal business. Oishi was grateful for that.

 

“Yes,” they went on to discuss who would be practicing together today, and the subject of Fuji and bruises was dropped for the moment, if not completely forgotten.

 

Tezuka and Oishi walked out onto the courts, where the members of the tennis club were busy doing warm-up exercises. At the appearance of their captain and vice captain, everyone came alert and turned toward the two men. Tezuka began to pair everyone up for practice. Fuji, who was still standing near the chain link fence he’d been leaning on when Tezuka and Oishi came out of the door from the locker room, noticed that Tezuka didn’t pair him up with anyone. He lifted his fine brows, as Oishi went off to practice with Kawamura, and Tezuka turned and walked toward the prodigy. The captain’s face was unreadable, but Fuji had always been able to tell a great deal more about what Tezuka was thinking than anyone else could. He could see how tense Tezuka’s body language was, and he braced himself for the coming confrontation.

“Fuji,” Tezuka said crisply. “You’ll be practicing with me today.”

“To what do I owe this honor?” drawled Fuji, folding his arms over his chest in a drawing-in gesture.

“You could use some practice against a left-handed player,” Tezuka replied, without responding to the cutting sarcasm in Fuji’s voice.

Fuji lowered his head, letting his eyes drift all the way closed. “If that’s so, why not just have me practice with Echizen-kun?” he asked.

Tezuka shrugged. “You and Echizen-kun are too much alike in some ways,” he said. “You need to play against someone whose style is different than yours.”

:Nice excuse, Tezuka: Fuji thought, wanting to clap. A sardonic expression ran over his face. “Of course. Shall we get to it?” he said, waving his racket at the empty court beside them. 

He started to turn away, but Tezuka’s grim voice said behind him: “Fuji,” he stopped short, although he didn’t turn around again to face his captain and friend. 

“Oishi told me about the bruises,” Tezuka said abruptly.

Fuji’s shoulders tensed faintly. But his voice was quite calm when he said: “Did he. Tssk. I didn’t think that Oishi was such a tattle tale.”

“He’s worried about you,” underlying this statement was the unsaid but implied addendum that they were ALL worried about him. 

Fuji bared his teeth, still not turning to look at Tezuka. “As I’ve stated before, Tezuka, this is none of your business. It doesn’t affect the team, nor has it affected my tennis playing. That’s the only thing that you’re responsible for. Everything else is personal, and not something that I’m going to discuss with you or anyone else.” His voice was flat and emotionless, with a note of finality in it.

He heard Tezuka sigh, but he dropped the subject for now. He knew how stubborn the tensai was. “Very well,” he said, but Fuji knew that this was only a strategic retreat on Tezuka’s part. 

They said nothing else to each other. And that was one of the things that Fuji had had to sacrifice when he began to realize just how much he loved and wanted his best friend. He could no longer maintain his close friendship with Tezuka, for the sharp-eyed captain would have noticed very soon the differences in his friend’s behavior. And so he had to deal with that on top of the pain of the unrequited love he struggled with. The loss of the closeness he’d always had with Tezuka was a hard blow, on top of everything else. Sometimes he felt so alone and empty. The only way that he’d been able to overcome that hollow feeling, if even for a short while, was to sink lower and lower into a sea of sexual depravity. Only there could he forget himself, and let the physical pain he experienced overlay the emotional anguish. 

Tezuka thought hard as he played against Fuji. He’d always been able to multi-task, and so he could play with his usual skill even as his brain ticked over. Whatever ailed his friend was only getting worse. Escalating. It had started over a year ago, maybe longer. Fuji had begun to withdrew away from him, and his personality began to change. While he’d always been cheerfully sadistic, and even a touch cruel, this cold, cutting, almost savage behavior was totally uncharacteristic. And the underlying bitterness was new as well. Tezuka would have thought that the prodigy was on drugs, but there was no way that Fuji would have been able to continue to play the way he did if he were taking any kind of hard drugs. 

The bruises that had begun to appear on Fuji’s body were another symptom of whatever sickness was eating at him. The bruises on his wrists were of several different varieties. Tezuka had seen rope burns occasionally, as well as the narrow red bands of what were probably handcuffs, and the wider darker bruises most likely caused by those wide leather cuffs with the chains attached to them. He’d also spotted bruises and welts on other parts of Fuji’s body as well. It was clear that the tensai was indulging in bondage, sadomasochistic behavior, and probably some D/s as well. 

This wouldn’t have bothered him – after all, how people got their kicks sexually varied widely from person to person – except for the fact that what he did obviously wasn’t making Fuji happy. Whenever he appeared with a new set of bruises he was never smiling, nor did he have the post-coital glow of a man who’d enjoyed what he’d been doing. And the changes in his emotional behaviors told Tezuka more than anything that Fuji was not doing these things because he enjoyed them(or not just because of that anyway), but because he needed to do them for some sick reason. He seemed driven by something, something that Tezuka had not been able to understand, much to his frustration. And he couldn’t get Fuji to confide in him about it. 

Not that Fuji confided in him much about anything anymore. He missed their friendship as much as the prodigy did, for they’d been best friends for a long time. Ever since junior high in fact. He wanted, with a frustration akin to despair, to discover what was eating at Fuji and to help his friend return to his normal self. He just wanted the Fuji he knew back. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon. So he’d keep his close vigil of Fuji, and hopefully the prodigy would let something drop that would tell him what he needed to know. It was all he could do, even though it drove him mad that that was the extent of his choices in this matter. 

When practice was over, Fuji simply turned and walked away without another word to Tezuka. The team captain stood on the court and watched him go, his face a grim mask. He felt a sudden urge to go punch a hole in a wall somewhere, and if he’d been a less controlled person he probably might have done just that. Instead, he walked slowly off the courts toward the locker room. He‘d get dressed and go meet Michiko at the local hang-out where they went to do homework and get something to eat most days. And if his mind was in a turmoil of worry over a certain person with a magnetic pair of bright-blue eyes, no one around him would be able to tell. Because the only person who might have been able to, was the very person who was the major cause of his anxiety in the first place. 

 

Eiji stood with furrowed brows and watched Oishi hurriedly exit the locker room. His doubles partner had gotten dressed and scurried out like a rabbit, instead of waiting for his friend as he normally did. Usually they’d go to the local hang-out with Tezuka, his girlfriend, and sometimes Momo, Echizen, Kawamura, and or Inui and Kaidoh as well. Oishi hadn’t even given the redhead a reason for his sudden departure. While he knew that his friend was still upset about his girlfriend dumping him, why would that have made him leave so hurriedly?

He scratched at his head as he turned back to his locker to finish getting dressed. Hurt welled up in him. Was Oishi mad at him? Had he done something wrong? He tried to conceal a sniffle as he reached up to hurriedly wipe away the tears welling in his sapphire eyes. He didn’t want any of the people swirling through the locker room on their way out the door to see him bawling. It was just too babyish. 

“Pathetic,” a familiar voice sneered nearby. His head whipped around to see Fuji sitting on the bench in front of his own locker, pulling on his street clothes. The prodigy’s eyes were mere electric-blue slits as he peered up at Eiji out of them. 

Eiji felt a mixture of anger and horror run through him. Of all the people that he did not want to have seen him crying! Fuji would never let him hear the end of it. He turned his back on the prodigy, stiffly pulling on the rest of his own street clothes without replying to Fuji’s nasty comment. He distinctly heard the tensai sniff disdainfully behind him. “Did Oishi hurt your little feelings, Eiji?” Fuji’s voice cut like a knife. “You’d think that he was your spouse the way that you’re bawling over him not paying enough attention to you.”

Eiji whirled around to glare at Fuji. The prodigy’s eyes slid even further shut, and a small smile moved over his lips. “Shut up, Fuji!” Eiji nearly screamed at the other boy. “What do you know about it, anyway?! Nobody likes you enough to stick around and wait for you, after all!”

A very palpable hit. Fuji jerked slightly as though he’d been struck, and his nostrils flared. “So true,” he conceded in a voice of ice. “And I don’t have your luck, Eiji. My best friend isn’t starting to wonder about HIS sexuality, nor how he feels about me.”

Eiji stared at him uncertainly. “What do you mean?” He whispered, hope springing up wildly in his breast.

Fuji’s smile grew even more twisted. “Let’s just say that Oishi is starting to look at you in a way he never has before, and leave it at that,” he replied coolly. He got to his feet and turned to leave, only looking over his shoulder at the stunned redhead very briefly. Something, a light that Tezuka might have recognized as being part of the ‘old’ Fuji, slid briefly through his eyes and was gone. Then he walked out without another word to anyone, a lone figure shut away tight in a cocoon of isolation. 

 

That night, in a small sleazy room at an anonymous love hotel, Fuji knelt on the floor with his hands tied tightly behind his back. A ball gag was thrust into his mouth, and a leather eye mask covered his magnetic eyes. He could hear the three men who were in the room with him moving around, and the swish of the leather of the strap one of them was testing out. Then there was a loud crack, and he flinched only slightly as the strap came down on his upturned ass very hard. The pain that ran through him was both clarifying and annihilating, and he smiled a little behind the gag as it came down yet again on another part of him. He had no idea how long it went on, but his ass was on fire by the time that the strap struck him for the last time. 

He could hear the voices of the three strangers that he’d picked up on the street speaking to each other. Then an unlubed finger was stuck into him, and he grimaced a little as it moved within him. But he’d had men take him before without bothering with either lube or even sticking a finger in him, so this was actually a step up. A slight hiss passed his lips as a second finger joined the first, but he welcomed the pain. And when they finally withdrew, and a cock drove into his body instead, he sobbed silently more in relief than pain. 

Yes this was how he wanted it. Hard and painful and nasty. Here he was being fucked by three guys he didn’t know, had never seen before, and would most likely never see again. The one doing him now was slapping up against his bruised and bloodied ass with each thrust, and he liked that even more. Dimly he wished that they’d just pound him into the floor, destroy him with their cocks, and help him forget for just a little while. He could hear the grunts and groans of the man on top of him, and the soft gasps of the other two, who were jerking themselves off as they waited their turn. 

He wished that they were going in bareback. But so far all of the men who’d done him had worn condoms, more for their own protection than his. They didn’t want to get any diseases from the boy who slept around like a whore. His bitterness intensified at this thought. As if they were any better, having anonymous sex with an underage boy, beating and torturing him(even if at his own request) these men who probably had wives and children waiting for them at home. He felt dirty whenever he contemplated this, but that only heightened the whole scene for him. He wanted the pain and the humiliation, he wanted to be brought low. He remembered a quote from Oscar Wilde, the great gay English playwright and novelist. ‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars’. And others, Fuji amended to himself in his own head as the guy behind him finished with a groan and pulled out so that the next one could take his place, are just in the gutter. Rolling around gleefully in the filth, until that’s what we become too.


	4. Chapter 4

Eiji was feeling forlorn. Oishi had been deliberately avoiding him all day at school. In the one class they shared, he wouldn’t look at the redhead when Eiji tried to catch his eye. Instead, he'd fastened his dark-green eyes on the teacher, as though the man were somehow his salvation. And he'd bolted out of the classroom when the bell rang, like his ass was on fire. 

Eiji wondered miserably what he’d done to deserve this kind of treatment from his best friend. While Fuji’s words of yesterday in the locker room had made him feel some hope, he didn’t see that Oishi was showing signs of being interested in him. The exact opposite, in fact. The vice captain was avoiding him as though he had the plague. The loss of their closeness as friends, along with his own uncertainty, was making him feel like curling up in a corner somewhere and sobbing. 

He slouched his way into the locker room after school, his sapphire eyes darting around for any sign of Oishi. But the vice captain had detailed a freshman to take roll today, so that he could keep out of the locker room and away from his friend and doubles partner. This was just the last straw. Eiji hurried over to his locker, biting his lip, tears streaming down his face. He used the open door of the locker to conceal his face from the rest of the room. He wiped desperately at his eyes as he fumbled with his tennis clothes. He didn’t want anybody, especially Fuji, to see him crying like this. 

Somehow he managed to get changed. He grabbed his racket and ran outside, to find a semi-private place to indulge his misery in. He chose a spot under the small stand of bleachers, sitting with his knees drawn up and his chin resting on top of them. He closed his eyes as tears continued to course down his face. He was terrified that something had happened to make Oishi hate him. He didn’t know of anything that he’d done personally, but if that were so why was his friend so assiduously avoiding him? And how would he stand it if he continued to do so? It had already only been one day, and Eiji's heart felt like it was breaking. He rested his forehead on his knees, as a sob shook his frame. He cried out his anxiety and aching misery, not aware that his friend was suffering from a similar malaise.

 

Oishi was so confused. Now that he had started to think about Eiji in other terms than as just his best friend or doubles partner, he found himself totally questioning his sexuality in a way he never had before. He’d always liked girls, and to find himself starting to be drawn to, and attracted to, his male best friend was throwing him for a loop. He had spent all the time in their shared class together today watching Eiji surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from that pixyish, adorable face, and he wanted desperately run his fingers through the shaggy auburn hair that just brushed the smaller boy’s shoulders. And those slender fingers, that held a tennis racket with such skill – how would they be holding something else? 

He’d had a hard-on for nearly the entire class. That’s why he'd practically run out of the room – he had to go to the boy’s bathroom and lock himself in a stall until his problem subsided, and fortunately the class had been just before lunch so he wasn’t late for his next class. Now he stood on the courts after school, having avoided Eiji once again, sunk in depression. He hated being away from his friend as much as Eiji did. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand to keep away from his partner - and how could he, really, since they had to practice together for the upcoming tournament? 

A hand buffeted him on the shoulder. “Hey, Oishi-senpai! Why the long face? Still in mourning for your fickle girlfriend?”

Oishi tried to conjure up a smile for the ever cheerful Momo, but it was a half-hearted effort at best. “Hello, Momo-chan. I guess so,” he replied to the other boy’s question, not wanting to get into the real reason for his current unhappiness.

Momo shook his spiky black head. “Don’t let it get to you, Oishi-senpai,” he said. “There are plenty of people out there who’d just love to hook up with you. You should go and get one of them, and forget that Asami.”

“Thanks, Momo-chan,” Oishi couldn’t help but feel a little bit better just from being around Momo, for the other boy’s cheerful good nature was hard to resist. 

“No problem,” Momo replied with a wink. He paused as though thinking hard. He scratched at his head a bit as he said thoughtfully – “What about Eiji-senpai, Oishi-senpai?”

Oishi jumped. His dark-green eyes were wide as he turned to look at Momo. “What?!” he exclaimed in shock.

Momo shrugged. "Well he’s cute, and he really likes you,” he said. Oishi’s jaw was now scraping the material of the court as he gaped at Momo.

“B-But…he’s a guy!” yelped Oishi.

Momo’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked. “If you like someone, what does their sex matter?” 

Oishi made a rather wild gesture with his hands. “But I’ve…always liked girls,” he said almost mournfully.

Momo tilted his head. “So? I’ve always liked guys, but if a girl came along that I liked, that fact wouldn’t stop me from being with her.”

Oishi’s head was spinning. “Y-You like GUYS?!” he repeated.

Momo nodded. “Sure. So does Fuji-senpai, and Inui-senpai, and…” he gave Oishi a rather sly look. “So does Eiji-senpai,” he continued.

Oishi almost choked. His dark-green eyes were wide and rather glazed. Momo took pity on him and patted him on the shoulder gently. “I can see that you didn’t know that,” he said kindly to his bewildered vice captain. “But now that you do, what you gonna do about it?”

Oishi blinked. His brain was reeling and staggering as though it were punch drunk. Momo’s words simply confirmed what Fuji had told him yesterday – that Eiji had wanted him, maybe for years. “Momo?” he said in a rather high voice.

“Yeah?” Momo gave him a concerned look. Oishi was rather pale. 

“Did you know that Eiji likes me?” he asked.

Momo hesitated. “Ummm…yeah,” he said after a moment. “Everybody knows that, Oishi-senpai.”

“Everybody but me,” mumbled Oishi, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. 

“I guess so. I’m sorry I said anything, if it bothers you that much.” Momo said remorsefully, his purple eyes concerned.

Oishi shook his head. “No, that’s all right Momo. Thanks for telling me.” His face took on a determined look. “I’d better go and talk to Eiji,” he said, straightening his shoulders like a man about to go into battle.

Momo slapped him on the shoulder again. “Thatta boy, Oishi-senpai,” he said cheerfully. “Go get him.”

 

Fuji walked carefully into the locker room, having waited to enter the locker room until such time as he knew that everyone else would be out on the courts. He didn’t want anyone to see him getting undressed, for they’d be sure to run to Tezuka if they saw his ass. He walked slowly over to his locker, trying not to think about how he was going to get through practice today. He could barely move, and his ass felt like it was made of so much raw meat. He didn’t bend over as he reached into his locker to fetch out his tennis togs. A grimace twisted his mouth as he began to pull off his school uniform a bit at a time.

He was just starting to try to get out of his trousers when he heard a voice speak his name behind him. Horror welled up in him as the hairs tried to stand up on his neck. Somehow he got his muscles to work, and turned very slowly to confront the man standing in the doorway of the locker room.

Tezuka stood with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes inscrutable behind the lenses of his glasses. His mouth was a slash as he stared at his best friend intently. “Finish taking off your clothes, Fuji,” his captain said in a voice of doom. 

Fuji somehow gathered himself together enough to lift a single ironic brow. “I will, Tezuka, of course. If I can have some privacy? I’m shy, you know,” he said with a precocious tilt of his head.

Tezuka was unmoved by his coy gesture. “Take off your clothes, turn around, and let me look at your ass.” He said grimly.

“Why Tezuka, I never knew that you swung that way,” Fuji’s reply was teasing, although his heart was sinking down toward his shoes.

“Do it, Fuji. Or do you want me to do it for you?”

At any other time, a threat by Tezuka to rip his trousers off and look at his ass would have excited Fuji. But now he just felt sick and rather scared. He knew that expression. Tezuka would not be put off for much longer. He closed his eyes as he reached down to unfasten his trousers and then push them down his slim hips. “Turn around,” Tezuka said, and he did so without making any more snide comments.

Silence. He knew what Tezuka was seeing, since he’d looked at himself in the mirror in his bathroom this morning. His ass was literally covered with raised red welts and hand prints. He’d skipped school almost entirely today, because he just could not sit down. While he liked pain, this was pain of an order and magnitude that was a bit above his normal preferences. While it had felt good last night to acquire those welts and bruises, they surely did not feel good today. 

Tezuka was still silent. Sweat sprang out on Fuji’s brow. When he did finally speak, what he said turned Fuji’s heart to stone. “You’ve told me before that these bruises that you turn up sporting are none of my business, because they don’t affect the team,” he said coldly. “And that was true – until now. You’ll hardly be able to move on the court today, let alone practice up to your normal skill. So now this IS team business. So you’re going to tell me why you’ve been doing this to yourself, Fuji, or I will take steps to ensure that my team is not hindered by your rash actions.”

Fuji whirled around to confront him, gritting his teeth against the pain of this sudden maneuver. “What do you mean?!” He snarled at the stony-faced Tezuka, as fear lashed through him.

The hazel eyes were implacable. “I mean that unless you tell me what is going on, you will be suspended from the team indefinitely.”

Fuji’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that!” he cried rather shrilly, terror coiling in him as his hands balled into fists at his side.

Tezuka made a waving gesture with one hand. “Of course I can. I’m the captain of the team. All I have to do is go to our coach and tell him that you’re hindering the team, and he’ll do what I request.” He leveled his gaze at Fuji. “So you have two choices, Fuji – either tell me what is going on, or you’re off the team. Which will it be?”

Fuji’s heart was in turmoil of rage and fear and despair. Tennis was the only thing that he’d been able to count on to keep him even a little bit sane. It helped to center him just as Tezuka always had before their friendship went up in smoke. Without it, and without Tezuka, he knew that he would finally come apart just as he’d always feared. The whirlwind that was the epicenter of his being would tear him to pieces, for he’d have no calming eye at the center of that storm anymore. But he simply COULDN'T bring himself to confess to Tezuka. Not just about the fact that he loved Tezuka, wanted him, needed him desperately – but he also didn’t want to look into those hazel eyes and tell his friend about his sordid, nasty sex life. Shame washed through him at the very thought. He didn’t want Tezuka to know what kind of a lowly, disgusting creature he had become.

Silence deepened in the locker room. Tezuka waited patiently, but Fuji said nothing. At last the captain stirred and straightened up. “Very well,” he said quietly, sadness in his voice. “I see that you’ve made your choice. I’m sorry, Fuji. All I want to do is help,” he said. There was something like desperation in his voice when he asked: “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Fuji couldn’t answer. He was trembling faintly, his whole body shaking, as the hurricane inside of him ramped up higher and higher. He wanted to get down on his knees and beg Tezuka not to kick him off the team, but he knew that that wouldn’t work. Tezuka’s iron will would prevent him from giving in to such a plea, no matter how moved he was by it. He had given Fuji an ultimatum, and he would stick by it. He only shook his head to Tezuka’s question, and the other man sighed tiredly as he rubbed at his face with one hand. “Oh, Fuji,” he murmured, and his voice was full of resignation and sadness. 

The tensai turned away blindly. He hugged his own body to try to keep it from flying into pieces. Inside of himself he was screaming in agony, but only the stiff set of his back was any indication of that internal pain for the man watching him from the doorway. Slowly he pulled his pants back up and began to put his school tunic back on. He could feel Tezuka’s worried eyes watching him the whole time, doing their own kind of silent pleading. Tell me what’s wrong, Fuji, they were begging. And he wanted to – he wanted to so much. He wanted to throw his burden at Tezuka’s capable feet, to let him solve this problem as he had so many of the others that Fuji had had. But this was one time that he couldn’t do that. Not this time, not now.

If he confessed to Tezuka that he loved him, and his friend either rejected him outright or looked at him with pity in his fine hazel eyes, Fuji knew that he wouldn’t survive it. So while the pain he endured was bad now, it was still better than the alternative. He finished putting on his tunic and picked up his tennis bag. Stiffly he turned around once more to face Tezuka. “I guess this is goodbye for now, then,” he tried to say cheerfully. But his voice came out flat and toneless, and Tezuka’s brows drew together. 

“Fuji…” he began, starting to make another plea for his friend to confide in him.

“No,” Fuji shook his head. “I can’t tell you, Tezuka. I’m sorry,” and he turned and left the locker room without another word, leaving a desperately worried tennis captain staring after his retreating form.


End file.
